Burned
by KingAlanI
Summary: By Alan Gilfoy in the world of Suzanne Collins. My Gale's Hunger Games story from Peeta's POV. About his reaction to losing Katniss, and a view of the District Twelve home front in general.


**Burned**

By Alan Gilfoy in the world of Suzanne Collins. My Gale's Hunger Games story from Peeta's POV. About his reaction to losing Katniss, and a view of the District Twelve home front in general.

Rated M, Genres Angst/Romance, Character Peeta M

**Chapter**

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I was too much of a coward to say anything to Katniss Everdeen, my crush of 11 years. I had even saved her from starvation in the spring of 70. I didn't made a move even then, let her know what I had known since 63. I couldn't tell her, I couldn't break that lock. I was shocked to my senses when she was sent off to the 74th Hunger Games. The odds were not in my favor as her counterpart was Gale Hawthorne, the only other guy that had ever shown an interest in her. The odds had always been in Primrose Everdeen's and Rory Hawthorne's favor to have such devoted older siblings, and now the whole country would see it.

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Now Katniss was even further from me and even closer to Gale. My father had always understood my predicament, perhaps because he was one of many men who had missed out on the woman that became Katniss' mom.

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Much of the district, including me, thought that Katniss and Gale were just incredibly close friends, which I took as yet another excuse to continue putting off talking to her. We didn't know they were a couple until they both mentioned it in their individual interviews. I don't think they had known for long either, else the district would have heard about it in person instead of on national television. Some people had suspected they'd become lovers, but I had been in denial. I was normally a nice guy, but I had wished Gale dead, with her coming home alone.

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They weren't the only couple in the 74th Games. The boy from Two had evidently fallen in love with the girl from One on the spot, like me with Katniss 11 years ago, but unlike me, he did something about it.

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The Hob was a black market where the likes of Katniss and Gale were brave enough to trade. They had many friends there who sponsored them in the arena. When that fundraising effort spread to the whole district, my father led the charge. I built up my nerve during those few harrowing weeks. I put some of my thoughts to paper, and Dad figured they should be set to music. For this task, he suggested James Larkin, who had played fiddle at the Mellark wedding, back before Mother turned so sour.

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Katniss, Gale and the other couple had all made it to the last eight tributes. Then the Gamemakers introduced a special twist – either couple could win together. Most of us called that The Announcement and figured it meant Katniss and Gale would be coming home. I was the only one to find it bittersweet - it would be painful to watch her come home _with him_. Yet the Games ended in chaos.

The last four were both couples, and they refused to fight it out. Rebels evacuated the Everdeen and Hawthorne families from District Twelve before the Capitol could retaliate against them. I suppose the relatives of meathead and shiny bitch got the same treatment. The rebels soon broke into the TV system for Gale to make a propaganda announcement. As expected, she was with him but alive.

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August 25th 74 turned out to be the darkest day of my life. On a fateful rainy day four years ago, I had scorched bread loaves on the bottom to give to a starving Katniss. Now it was my heart that was burned.

The rebels had hacked the TV's again. Pumpernickel ran back from the town square to tell the rest of us. "Apparently _certain rebels_ are getting married." I knew damn well what he meant, and I did not like it, not one bit. This was an especially bad time for mean brother behavior.

"I'm not watching _that_!" I said, disgusted. A couple weeks earlier in the arena, they had carried out a toasting, the main District Twelve marriage ritual. I convinced myself I hadn't seen it, but this was undeniable. My other brother and my mother were glad to remind me that I had been a fool.

However, as usual, my father understood. He offered "We'll watch, but you can tend to the shop" as a compromise. I gladly took it.

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Once they left, I stood behind the counter like I had hundreds of times before. _Now I have no chance of success at th__e one thing I cared most about in life – winning Katniss' heart. What do I have left in life now? Nothing, really - two mean brothers, a harpy of a mother, and a father just as pathetic as I am. Might as well get it over with._ I left these thoughts as a note and put it in my pocket. I found a piece of rope, tied it into a loop and walked into the back room to find a rafter to tie it to.

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I heard footsteps. The person responsible for them called out "Anybody here? I came to a bakery to buy bread, what a concept." The voice was that of a young woman.

I shouted back, "Just take the bread and leave the money on the counter. One and one eighth assarion for a single loaf, two assarion for a pair." _And let me die in piece._

However, she ignored what I intended as my last request and came running to the voice. She broke down the door to see me in my precarious position and reached for a knife block, drawing a long thin serrated blade. "Don't do it! Move on from it!" she shouted.

I had dragged a wooden stool to a spot under one of the building's support beams. As I threw the rope up high, I shouted back "Go away!"

She challenged me with "You're telling me you're fine, but you're obviously in pain! This is an answer, but it isn't a solution!"

The stool was wide enough at the top to leave both of us room to stand. She climbed up and put one hand around me in a grasp surprisingly firm for someone of her stature. The other hand was wielding the knife and she reached up to cut down the rope I was furiously trying to secure to the architecture. This was aided not only by the long blade but also by her being a few inches taller than me. As I was starting to tie the rope in place, it was starting to fray. Then I got a good look at her. "You look familiar" was all I could say.

"Bridget Larkin. They say I have grandpa James' cheeks, and you've been around about that song you were writing." At this I relaxed my struggle of trying to fight her off.

"Yeah, but I was writing it for a certain young woman who is today committing to someone else," I rebutted, it being obvious who I was talking about.

"They're lucky to have each other, yes, but you're luckier than you think. A cute, strong and talented young man like you will certainly be able to find another lady."

_Enough of the cowardice._ "Maybe he already has," I said, gripping her hand but not to fight it off. "After all, you just saw the best in me when I only saw my worst."

"Perhaps that is to be. The point is, now you can grow old with someone, not forever stuck at sixteen."

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A/N

Many lines in this chapter are paraphrases of "Twenty-Three", an anti-suicide song by Andrew Nielsen AKA MC Lars.


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